Mama sits up, her expression severe. “Wraye, I asked you to tell me if you heard anything interesting at Court. Knowledge is power.”
“And what if the gossip was about me? What if other mothers and daughters in Ivera were sitting around their breakfast tables, discussing me and laughing about me?”
“Darling, you wouldn’t dream of putting yourself in any compromising situations.”
Oh, wouldn’t I?
“Go and get ready,” Mama commands, standing up. “I want your hair in curls and every inch of your dress neat, clean and pressed. Polish your shoes, too, and try to do something about your hands.”
I examine my hands as I go to my room. They’re chapped from years as a chambermaid, and even the new hand cream Mama bought doesn’t help much when I still have to wash dishes and do laundry here. They’re a dead giveaway that I’m not a real lady.
At two o’clock that afternoon, I’m standing on the front step of Levanter House in a white blouse and skirt, printed with tiny sprigs of flowers. My nails are filed, and my hair is curled and half pinned-up.
I ring the bell and wait, and instead of Aubrey opening the door herself, a footman appears and stands aside, revealing the butler. Two servants just to open the front door.
“Hi—hello. Lady Wraye Rugova. I was invited to tea by Lady Aubrey?” I hate the way my voice goes up at the end, as if I’m asking permission from them.
The butler bows graciously and leads me to a beautiful sunny lounge at the back of the house, with cream sofas, a marble floor and fireplace and thick cream rugs. Then, he leaves me in the empty room without a word.
A prickle travels up my spine. Something’s not right.
“Hello.”
It’s not Aubrey’s happy voice that greets me, but one that’s far deeper and harder.
I whirl around and see him standing in the doorway. Archduke Levanter is wearing gray trousers, a white shirt and a pale gold cravat that enhances the tawny shards in his hazel eyes. The open-necked shirt gives him an aura of at-home casualness, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s watching me.
I realize my mouth is open, and I shut it quickly. “Your Grace. Where’s Lady Aubrey?”
“Out.”
I watch him balefully. The invitation wasn’t from Aubrey at all. “You tricked me.”
“Would you have come, if the invitation was from me?”
A simple no is all I need to say, but I want to know if I can make him as flustered as he’s making me. I flash him a look from beneath my lashes. “Refuse a summons from Archduke Levanter? But that would be misbehaving.”
Levanter encloses my upper arm in an iron grip and leads me over to the sofa. He doesn’t seem flustered, but I wonder if I caught a glint of the dangerous expression I saw in his eyes last night.
“Sit,” he commands, pointing to a sofa. When I do, Levanter leans over and braces his hands on either side of me, trapping me with his arms. His face is close enough to mine that his eyes fill my vision.
“This morning, I received a phone call from a journalist asking me to confirm the most atrocious rumor about Aubrey and a horse.”
I smile up at him, as if my heart isn’t about to batter itself out of my chest. “The only person I told that story to was Viscount Karloff. You should be pinning him against the sofa, not me.”
Levanter narrows his eyes, as if trying to discern a lie written on my face. Seeming to accept what I’m saying, he goes to the fireplace and tugs on a velvet rope. A moment later, three servants bring in silver trays with a tea service and cake stands. There are sandwiches cut into fingers, tiny pink and white cakes and a basket of scones.
One of the servants pours the tea, then they all slip away. Levanter sits down and watches me from the opposite sofa, one long leg crossed over the other, and his eyes narrowed speculatively.
I gaze around at the food and delicate teacups. Everything looks too pretty to disturb. “I used to see high teas like this being served at the hotel.” See, but never taste.
“The hotel?”
“Hotel Ivera. I was a chambermaid there for five years. So was Mama.” It’s precisely the sort of topic that Mama told me to avoid, but I’m not going to pretend my past was sitting on sofas, eating frilly cakes, because neither was his.
Levanter stares at me a long time, a forefinger trailing over his full lower lip. I stare back, until he flicks a finger at the tea spread before us.
“Start, won’t you? It’s meant to be eaten, not looked at.”Chapter NineDevrimI watch Lady Wraye take a bite out of a cake with pink fondant frosting, and an expression of bliss spreads over her face. I remembered that women enjoy this sort of tea, which consists of entirely too much sugar and fuss, and the look on her face tells me, it was the right decision.